


between your love and mine

by alamorn



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Consensual Mind Control, F/M, Femdom, Power Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:35:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23021818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alamorn/pseuds/alamorn
Summary: Geralt's not sure making the wish was a mistake, but not telling Yennefer definitely was. Unfortunately, he's really good at making mistakes over and over and over again.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 21
Kudos: 135





	between your love and mine

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little bit pre-Geralt/Yennefer/Jaskier, but since I don't know if I'll continue it, feel free to interpret as makes you happiest.

He hadn't thought about the wish before he'd made it, and then he didn't have time after until he'd rolled away from Yennefer, where she slept peacefully in the wreckage, pulled on his pants, and went to find Jaskier, to make sure that he still had his voice, which Geralt was grudgingly willing to put up with in exchange for his life. 

Honestly, he didn't think about it until they had put their backs to the town and settled in around a fire for the night, Jaskier experimenting with a few lines about the ordeal.

"What were your wishes?" he asked, as he fingered out a chord meditatively. "Something poetic, I hope. I must say, Geralt, often you do not give me much to work with."

Geralt grunted. "The first was peace, I think, and I haven't seen it yet," he said, ticking off one finger. "The second, for the jailer's head to burst. The third -" he stopped, stunned.

"Yes?" Jaskier prompted, looking up from the notebook he'd pulled out. "The third, Geralt, don't keep me in suspense, you always let it go on too long."

Geralt swallowed, hard, thinking of Chireadan and his blue eyes, the sorrow and shame and pity, when he said, "I think you might understand."

"It's of no matter," he said, and Jaskier yowled in fury.

"You're doing it _again_ ," he wailed, "there's a song there, and you're not letting me write it. Do you think another bard would treat you better? Hm? This could be my next hit!"

"That's why I'm not telling you," Geralt said. Yennefer would already be furious enough to hear he had bound them; if she heard it secondhand, through one of Jaskier's songs, always light on the truth and high on the drama, she would find him and kill him. 

Clearly, he thought desperately, the binding was not too tight, or he wouldn't have been able to walk away from her. Perhaps it was too ephemeral a wish, and the djinn had done a sloppy job. Perhaps he would never have to admit to her that after one day, much of which he spent under her control, acting out her petty revenge, he had wished them bound forever.

He'd wanted her safe, he remembered that, hadn't been sure how to keep the djinn from killing her and hadn't had time to think of many options. But he had thought of more than just the one, and chosen it anyway. "Fuck," he whispered into his hands. 

"Oh," Jaskier said, voice trembling with delight, "this is good, isn't it, you did something _very_ poetic, didn't you?"

"If you put this in a song," Geralt said into his hands, "or tell _anyone_ , I will kill you."

"Geralt," Jaskier said, moving to sit next to him, eagerness rolling off him in waves, "I promise to use lots of metaphors."

"I'm serious, Jaskier, because if I don't kill you, she will." Geralt even dropped his hands from his face to stare at Jaskier, so the idiot could see how serious he was.

"Did you --" Jaskier cut himself off with a hand over his own mouth, expression warring between unholy delight and apoplexy. "Geralt, did you bind yourself to that crazy sorceress?"

Geralt said nothing, both unable and unwilling to confirm. Unluckily, Jaskier had never needed him to talk in order to keep a conversation going. He sprang to his feet and began to pace. "She tried to cut off my penis, you know! And bind a djinn, against your _very_ strong recommendation! And had taken over a good part of a town! But most importantly, threatened _me_ , your best friend in all the world," and he didn't even break pace as Geralt grunted a "No," just continued on with the same breath, "with bodily harm! I use my body, Geralt! I'm quite attached to my penis, both literally and figuratively! And you went and _married_ her!"

"Not married," Geralt corrected, but his heart wasn't in it. Marriage was only legal. This was much more binding.

"And now you won't even let me sing about it!" Jaskier went to his knees before Geralt, but his act of pleading was undercut by the hysterical glee covering his face. " _Think_ , Geralt! What's better than a friend of humanity? A friend of humanity in love with and bound to a cruel lover, a beautiful, power-hungry sorceress at that! I could write an epic about this."

"Don't," Geralt said, not quite begging, but not quite doing anything else, either. Then he considered. "If I die, go ahead."

"If you _die_ ," Jaskier said dismissively. "You're a witcher, you'll be around till whatever apocalypse gets it right comes down."

Geralt, personally, was not nearly as convinced of his longevity. Witchers lived long lives, yes, but when they died, they didn't do so peacefully. "Still," he said. "But you better verify I'm dead first."

"Does..." Jaskier paused, clearly overcome with the storytelling potential. "Does Yennefer _know_?"

Geralt said nothing.

"Oh," Jaskier said, "you have to tell her. Please let me be in the room when you tell her."

"No," Geralt said, getting up and starting to get ready for bed, hoping, rather pessimistically, that Jaskier would leave it alone if he laid down and pretended to sleep. 

"No, you won't tell her, or no, I can't be in the room?" Jaskier asked, not in the least put off by Geralt lying down and pulling his blanket over his face in what Geralt thought was a pretty clear dismissal.

" _No_ ," he just said again, muffled under the blanket.

Jaskier paused, then said thoughtfully, "If you tell her now, she might think it's sweet. If you tell her later, she'll probably kill you to end it. Our time together was limited, but I think I got a clear impression of how she deals with things she thinks are in her way."

Geralt didn't think he could manage to get the words out. And anyway, he didn't believe in fate, or destiny. All he had to do was run the other direction.

\--

He ran directly into Yennefer two months later, a hundred miles from Kinde. Jaskier threw a sharp elbow into his ribs, hissed, " _I told you so_ ," and then her eyes, unusual as his, were on him, and he fancied he could smell her from across the muddy market. His mind went blank.

She made him wait, which was fine, because he needed the time to gather any sort of thoughts. Chireadan had been right, damn him; Geralt understood entirely.

Long enough passed that when she finally approached, it was almost a surprise. "Witcher," she said, eyes flashing up and down him, looking both bored, and as if she were remembering him naked. It was an unpleasant combination. "Have you come to kill something, or merely to harass another poor sorceress?"

Despite himself, Geralt smiled. "Are there any around? I like to keep practiced."

The corner of her mouth tugged up, then severely down. It would be too close to weakness to laugh at his jokes this early. He understood -- sorceresses lived on image, and, though she had left the Brotherhood, she had not left their habits.

"Here for a gryphon," he offered, wanting to keep her eyes on him. He began to walk, aimlessly, and she walked beside him without seeming to notice. Jaskier rolled his eyes and peeled off, likely to find them a room for the night -- hopefully it was a large enough village that there would _be_ rooms. Geralt rarely had luck when they needed to beg a space on someone's floor. "It's been eating the farmers in the northern fields."

"What a coincidence," she said, not sounding at all surprised, though Geralt was fairly certain that Yennefer never admitted surprise. It would be almost as bad as admitting fear. "I've been hired to procure a gryphon's feathers."

"For what?" he asked. There were alchemists who wanted them for spells, hunters who wanted them for fletching, and lords who wanted them for bragging rights, but he didn't know how desperately Yennefer needed money after he and Jaskier had destroyed her little set up.

"Do you ask questions of your clients?" she asked him, eyebrow raised.

"Lots," he said. "Don't know what you're getting into, don't know how to prepare for it."

"And that's how your little bard ended up choking to death on a djinn's curse?"

"I prepare," Geralt said, shrugging. "Jaskier does not."

"And yet, he is still with you," she said, unable to fully hide her curiosity. 

"Get chased out of town less," Geralt said, which was not the _whole_ truth.

She looked at him, violet eyes considering, then visibly decided to let it go. "The gryphon," she said. "How will you kill it?"

"Set up a lure, use a crossbow to ground it, fight it on the ground."

"With your little silver sword?" she asked, more than half-mocking, invitation curling around the words.

He couldn't stop himself. He grinned. "You know it's not little."

She drew closer to him, hand closing over the half-hard bulge in his pants. He allowed himself an inhale, the scent of lilac and gooseberries. "No," she agreed, "not little."

Her lips were close to his, but -- "If you want me to spank anyone this time, you might try asking first," he said.

As always, she understood more than he'd meant. "You would not fight me, were I to use you again."

Her hand was still closed around his rapidly hardening length, and from the way her eyelashes flickered, she'd felt the pulse of rushing blood at her words. He said nothing.

She didn't need him to. She released her grip and he swayed helplessly forward, into her. "Bring me the gryphon's flight feathers, and I'll do it again."

Geralt swallowed, trying to draw moisture back to his dry mouth. "Already found another town council to hate you?"

"I have more than one trick up my sleeve," she said, and patted his cheek. "Find me when it's done. If you die, you weren't worth it anyway."

He watched her walk back to the market, taking the moment to will himself out of hardness. Then he went to find Jaskier, who took one look at him and said, "You didn't tell her."

Geralt grunted, pulling his armor from Roach's saddlebags and beginning to dress.

"You're not _blind_ , right?" Jaskier asked, rubbing Roach's nose as she lipped at his pockets. "You can see how crazy she is? And how powerful? I feel like that's an important point, that she is _crazy_ enough to try and kill you, and _powerful_ enough to actually do it?"

"All have to die sometime," Geralt grunted, pulling the bracers on.

Jaskier made a seething noise, like a pot boiling onto the flames. 

"Well?" Geralt asked, pulling himself up onto Roach's back. "Are you coming to watch, or not?"

"Watch?" Jaskier said, flushing bright red. Geralt peered at him suspiciously. "I'd never -- why would I want to watch? That would be -- rude, and, and invasive, I can't believe you would ask me that."

"The gryphon, Jaskier," Geralt said, and watched Jaskier turn an even brighter red. He looked as if his head might pop from the amount of blood in it, something Geralt found himself peculiarly well-suited to judging. Slowly, he said, "Jaskier, did you... watch Yennefer and I..."

"No!" Jaskier yelped, loudly enough that Roach took an unhappy side step. "I mean, just for a second, because I thought you were dead, and Chireadan said you weren't, and really it's Chireadan's fault, he was the one who found you two. The poor fellow looked like he didn't know whether to be happy or not, but I don't see him following her around anymore, so I suppose it doesn't much matter. Anyway, it's not like I... saw anything. Or, anything I haven't seen before. You're really quite strong, aren't you? Please make me stop talking, it's not going to happen by itself."

"Ah," Geralt said, and urged Roach gently towards the road leading north.

It took a moment for Jaskier to follow. "Are you mad at me? It can be hard to tell sometimes, with your whole," he gestured vaguely but expressively, "face deal."

"No, Jaskier," Geralt said. "But you don't get a high horse about secrets anymore."

"It is _hardly_ on the same level," Jaskier grumbled, but subsided when Geralt growled low in his throat.

The fight against the gryphon went as well as such things ever did, only taking one long gash down his shoulder, the gryphon's talons shearing through his armor easily. Plucking the beast one handed, the other arm resting in his lap as Jaskier bound it, fretting, was it's own challenge. A gryphon's flight feathers were deeply rooted, and the feathers themselves were sharp enough that he had to wear his glove.

"This is for _Yennefer_ , isn't it," Jaskier grouched as he tied off the bandage. "Well, I shan't help you."

"Didn't ask," Geralt grunted, pulling out another handful.

"Fine," said Jaskier, going to his knees beside Geralt and seizing a handful of flight feathers, before hissing at their edges, pulling back and putting gloves on, and beginning again, "as I am your very best friend in all the world, I shall assist you, out of the goodness of my own heart, as watching you struggle, one-handed, is too pathetic to bear."

"Still can't write a song about us."

" _Geralt_ ," Jaskier, said, exasperated, though he didn't stop plucking. "Why is it that the second you stumble into a really good romantic ballad, you declare it off limits?"

"You wrote about the vampire," Geralt offered, not quite an apology or rebuke, but not quite anything else, either. That had been _embarrassing_ , and now he couldn't outrun it. Jaskier had prettied it up from _thought with his dick_ , but not that much.

"I did, didn't I?" Jaskier said, staring dreamily. "That did quite well, you know."

"I _know_ ," Geralt growled.

"Still, that was years ago. Isn't it time to let me update your love life?"

Geralt stared murderously at him until Jaskier rolled his eyes and tossed the gryphon feathers at him. " _Fine_ , but I do insist you tell her. Much as _I_ am _your_ very best friend in the world, you are mine, and I would really prefer you not get slaughtered by a mad mage."

Geralt felt his lips twitch in a smile, but he managed to hide it before Jaskier looked over at him. "I'll keep it under consideration."

"You know, I shouldn't be telling people you're a nice guy, really, because you're not. I open my _heart_ to you, Geralt, and that's all I get--"

"Thank you, Jaskier," Geralt cut him off. 

"Well," Jaskier said, mollified. "You're welcome. My career would suffer without you."

"I love you, too, Jaskier."

While Jaskier sputtered, Geralt gathered the scattered feathers and tucked them into Roach's saddlebags. His arm hurt too badly to pull himself into the saddle, and it wasn't that long of a walk, so he walked it, stretching out the post-fight tension.

After a while, Jaskier caught up to him, and chattered on, but it wasn't the sort of conversation that Geralt had to be present for. He grunted whenever Jaskier paused for a response, and let himself feel eager.

\--

Yennefer had managed to get the nicest room available, and filled it with a truly obscene amount of things. Geralt glanced around as she put the gryphon feathers on a table with a collection of alchemical ingredients he recognized, and a few he did not. "How do you move all this stuff?" he asked.

She cast a scornful look back at him. "Magic. Don't be stupid now, or you'll ruin the mood." 

"There's a mood?" Geralt raised an eyebrow.

"If there's not, you can leave," she said, leaning back against the table. The dress she wore now was different from the one she'd worn earlier. This one looked easier to remove. He didn't know how to feel, that she was as eager as he was. And if he, knowing the wish, couldn't trust either of them, how would she feel, when he told her?

Dread tied his tongue, and she tilted her head. "I didn't _mean_ it, but if you're going to stand there like a lump, I do have other things I could be doing."

"Far be it from me to keep you from your business," he said. If he gave her choice after choice, would that make up for taking the largest choice from her? Was there any coming back from what he'd done?

"Where do you keep going?" she asked, annoyance sharp in her voice. "You'll insult me, if you do it again."

"You have my full attention," he told her.

"I bet you tell all your monsters that."

"No, just you."

Her lips twitched and she walked over to him. "You liked it," she said, almost whispering. "Why? The mighty witcher, hero of songs, monster of children's stories, and you liked it. You liked not being in control."

Geralt kissed her just to shut her up, but it didn't work; he felt her magic crawl inside his body and move it. She put him on his knees, left him staring up at her.

"Why?" she asked, hands mapping his face, smoothing down the bridge of his nose, pulling his bottom lip down and lingering there, as if he was a horse and she was checking his teeth before the sale. "Do you trust yourself so little? It's not like you were free of repercussion."

Even if he could have answered, he wouldn't have. There was no easy way to say that he was tired, tired of moral quandaries, tired of other people's troubles, and yet did not know how to put them down. Yennefer had no such compunction, as far as he could tell.

He found his hands on her hips, face pressed into her belly, as her nails scratched soothingly against his scalp. It was a curious sensation; he was aware of his actions, vividly, unlike last time, and she wasn't scripting his every move. Just nudges, here and there, though he was certain they would become more than that, if he did anything that displeased her.

For the first time in a long time, Geralt relaxed.

When his hands began to draw up her skirts, Geralt tilted his head back just far enough that he could catch Yennefer's eyes. He wondered how his own looked, fogged over with her magic, if she was looking out through them at herself, but if she was, he couldn't see it on her face. 

She let him look at her for a while, met his gaze evenly and without comment. He didn't dare hope she would drop the thread, but she seemed content not to pursue it at this moment. Instead, she slung a leg over his shoulder, and one of his hands slid up the leg still braced on the ground, only stopping when her ass filled his palm. Her legs were soft and smooth and fragrant, and he traced his nose against her inner thighs before nuzzling between them. She was soft and fragrant there, too, and he breathed deep, hoping to fill himself with her scent.

There, another nudge. His lips sealed over her clit, and he didn't have to worry about figuring out what she liked -- she told him, moved his lips and tongue for him, drew herself to a fever pitch, grinding against his face, and when she shivered over it, her control relaxed and he caught her up in both hands, laid her down gently as her supporting leg wobbled.

And then her control was back, and he was drawing his cock out and pressing into her, not even taking the time to push down his pants or pull off his shirt. She gasped as he entered her, nails digging into his shoulders, head tossing. He pushed in slowly, slower than he would have chosen, but this was not about him. He was present, not responsible, and she fucked herself with his body slowly, luxuriously, only increasing his speed when his muscles started to twitch and flex, out of his control, maybe even out of hers. She smiled at him, openly delighted, as he drove into her.

It wasn't an expression he had seen on her before, not directly, not without her hiding it immediately, and if he'd controlled his own body, he would have stuttered, paused, taken a moment to trace it, feel the curve of her mouth with his fingers, but she had no such tenderness for herself, and did not pause.

His arms hooked under her legs, pressing them up towards her chest so he could drive in deeper still. By himself, Geralt would have worried that he was being too rough, each snap of his hips almost punishing in its force. He wanted to kiss her, and he wasn't certain if she could feel that, or if the desire was her own -- and was that their future? not knowing what was honest and what was forced? what had he done? -- but she brought his face down and let him kiss her.

When he was trembling on the precipice of his own release, she nipped his lip hard and gave him back to himself. He drove his hips into hers savagely hard before his control registered, and then he hesitated, almost appalled at himself. She shoved him over, rolling them so she sat astride him, braced one hand on his throat and rode him just as brutally fast as she'd had him riding her, dark hair falling in front of her face, eyes just visible and staring a challenge at him.

When she squeezed her hand, not quite choking him, but letting him know that she _could_ , and that he _could_ stop her and _wouldn't_ \-- that was when he came, as hard as if she'd put a hook through his guts and pulled them out.

He would tell her in the morning, he decided, when he was capable of thought once more. She deserved to know. But he wanted to savor the softness of her expression first, wanted to have this memory when she turned her back on him.

"Don't fall asleep this time," she said, leaning down and bracing her elbows on each side of his head, brushing their noses together, breath puffing against his lips, warm and intimate.

"Mm, no promises," he said, eyes already growing heavy. Perhaps it should have been embarrassing, how easily he slept in her presence, but he slept so poorly out of it, he wasn't about to question it. "Even your control might struggle there."

"Oh, a challenge," she breathed. Then, just as low and intimate, "What are you hiding, witcher?"

His eyes snapped open and he met her gaze directly, the scant inches between them no shield from her curiosity. "What are you?" he asked her.

She rolled off of him, laying just far enough that their hands brushed, but no other part of them touched, a deliberate distance that made him ache. "I have many secrets, and you're entitled to none of them."

"Hm," Geralt agreed. 

"Don't fall asleep," she said, but he was already sinking.

\--

He woke with his secret on his lips, but she was gone already. Geralt sat there for a long while, looking around the empty room, and then he got up, unhappily certain that he would see her again.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] between your love and mine](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23628124) by [Chantress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chantress/pseuds/Chantress)




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